


Day 1 - Poetry

by GemmaRose



Series: Megarod Week [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Languages, Love Confessions, M/M, Medic Rodimus | Rodimus Prime, Poetry, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:33:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27026638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: He had heard about Megatron writing poems. He hadn't expected to hear his first one while Megatron was high off his aft on painkillers for surgery.
Relationships: Megatron/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Series: Megarod Week [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972465
Kudos: 31
Collections: Megarod Week





	Day 1 - Poetry

Rodimus sighed, crossing his arms and giving Megatron an unimpressed look. “Which pain patch is he on?” he asked, glancing at First Aid.

“Strongest we have in stock.” his CMO said. “Most of the internal work is done, but some cables and sensor wires in his left forearm still need to be spliced back together, plus the obvious exterior damage.” he gestured at the gouges covering Megatron’s frame, and Rodimus nodded.

“Right, I’m on it.” he grabbed a splice set and walked over to Megatron’s berthside. Why he’d let himself get talked into this, he didn’t know, but apparently Megatron behaved best for him so now on top of being Captain he was his co-captain’s nurse. “You’re a real pain in the aft, you know that?” he asked, popping Megatron’s loosened forearm plating off and setting it aside. Luckily it was only a couple of motor cables and two sensornet wires, which meant it wouldn’t be long at all before he was back in his comfort zone of welding patches onto split armour, but until he was done his focus had to be absolute. He couldn’t worry about the captaincy weighing on his shoulders, or Velocity keeping a careful optic on him. Until he was done with this, it was just him and a heavy duty frame cut open by energy weapons.

He’d done this before; back in Nyon he’d been the best medic they had, though the bar hadn’t been very high. He could do this. «I can do this.» he murmured to himself in Nyonian, shuttering his optics as he took another steadying vent and let the rest of the world fall away. No medbay, just warm lights and cool air. No spaceship, just the comforting thrum of engines in the distance. No Megatron on the berth, just- just another miner. Another mech he was being trusted to put back together and get back on his pedes. No pressure at all.

«Yer preeeety.» his patient slurred, helm flopping sideways, unevenly lit optics visibly struggling to focus on Rodimus even just from what he could see in his peripheral vision. «Pretty medic.»

«Hold still.» Rodimus muttered, channelling all his processing power into making sure his hands stayed steady, his optics focused as sharp as they could go. «This pretty medic’s making sure you get to keep your arm.» he lined up the split ends of one of the cables, clicking his fingers to produce a spark and test that it was lined up the right way. Lucky thing it was a clean cut, they’d have him back in the field within the deca-cycle.

«Pretty like- like the sun.» his patient mumbled, accent thick and foreign, tickling at the back of Rodimus’s processor as he heated his finger to sear the split ends of the cable together. Not as good as a proper splice, but it would hold until self-repair kicked in. It would be stiff for a while, but regular use should loosen it back up soon enough. «I cannot look upon your face, but long to feel your warm embrace. You warm my spark and soothe my wound, your touch it heals, my life renewed.»

«Hush.» he chastised, pinching and rolling the sealed cable and moving on to the second, smaller one. Smaller was good, smaller meant fewer strands to line up.

«No.» he could sense the mech’s smile without seeing it, and flicked his spoiler in annoyance. Stupid miners, always thought they were invincible until they were already at Mortilus’s mercy. «A messenger of Primus sent, your face it is for smiling meant.»

«That’s not even a good line.» he scoffed, his hands moving surer now as he patched the remaining minor cables.

«That’s true.» his patient admitted. «How about...» he trailed off into blessed silence as Rodimus moved on to the sensornet wires. Thank Primus they were just single wires, he could do a quick and dirty touch-solder on them. Would hurt like slag, but if this mech could recite bad poetry through getting his cables seared back together he could stand the burn of fusing wires. Rodimus didn’t let himself hesitate, grabbing the pieces of one split wire and bringing them together, heating his fingers until the metal went soft under his touch and he could pinch the ends back together. Whatever sensors were on the other end of that wouldn’t work quite as well anymore, but they’d work. And, miracle of miracles, his patient only grunted in pain.

He repeated the process quickly on the second wire, and stepped back with a shaky ex-vent, his fans clicking on low to dispel the anxious heat which had built in him during the operation. The successful operation, at that. Not bad for a self-trained field medic.

He cycled another deep ventilation, letting the rest of the world back in, and his fuel pump jumped three whole gears at Megatron’s bass rumble of «O flame, O light. O Primus’s true delight.»

Megatron- Megatron knew Nyonian? When had that happened? He took another step back, processor whirling through the past few kliks on triple speed, replaying every word, all in Nyonian. He’d not even noticed, so focused on not tripping himself up that he forgot he wasn’t back home, patching up one of his fellow Insurgents.

Megatron pushed himself up to sitting, and Rodimus stumbled closer when strong hands pulled gently on his hips. Megatron’s helm dropped against his shoulder, that strong, proud nose he so often wanted to punch in nuzzling against his neck cables with utmost tenderness, the familiar words of his creators’ courting poem lilting with Megatron’s strong Decepticon Standard accent. An accent he’d heard every third evening for _stellar cycles_ , at first stumbling through the sounds of his dying language and then growing more confident, more fluent. Fluent enough to create his own poetry instead of sticking to the ones Rodimus sent him.

Megatron stalled in his recitation, and Rodimus picked up where he’d left off, finishing the poem with a glyph for devotion so archaic it had barely changed since the age of Primal Vernacular as the dominant language. Megatron sat up straighter, optics wide as he stared at Rodimus, his amorous field quickly cooling to something like horror, like regret. «This-» he coughed, clearing his vocaliser queue. “This isn’t a dream?” his voice wavered slightly, and Rodimus shook his helm as he stepped back, field rioting with emotion even as he drew it close to his plating.

“Oh, frag.”

“Where did you learn that poem?” he asked, not because he didn’t know but because he needed to hear it from Megatron himself. It didn’t feel real yet, even as Megatron’s field flickered rapidly between self-recriminating shame and a heady mix of _want need **hope**_ so strong it burned.

“From you.” Megatron said, helm bowed and shoulders stiff.

“You- I-” Rodimus reset his vocaliser, spoiler trembling behind him. “I need to go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Megatron’s poem is based on The Sun I Love, by Lorraine Ziemke. The courting poem is courtesy of withersake.
> 
> Apologies to any not-logged-in readers, but due to an ex who refuses to leave me alone I have had to disable anon comments. Kudos are still open though, and if you want to scream (or would like me to write a fic for you) come check me out on Pillowfort! No account required to get my discord, and I'm always happy to chat. [[Link](https://www.pillowfort.social/GemmaRose)]


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